


Blond. James Blond.

by interrobangme



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interrobangme/pseuds/interrobangme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You think I won’t do it?” Q drunkenly slurred, nearly knocking over Eve’s cocktail as he pointed at her. “B’cause I can, y’know. I could do it. Just like that. Blond.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blond. James Blond.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or Brit-picked, so I apologize for any errors. I'm not sure where this idea came from, but please have it anyway :)

“You think I won’t do it?” Q drunkenly slurred, nearly knocking over Eve’s cocktail as he pointed at her. “B’cause I can, y’know. I could do it. Just like that. Blond.”

“Alright, boffin, easy does it. I think we all know how much you cherish Bond’s looks. To mar those luscious locks with bleach would be like throwing acid in his face,” she answered, propping Q back up against the booth.

Tanner merely chuckled over his pint.

They'd been teasing Q after his slurred monologue, devoting himself to Bond and his perfect hair. The agent had grown it out a bit after the Skyfall mission, and it suited Q's tastes very well.

“You laugh, but I’ll do it! I don’t care. He’s beautiful. Beauuuuutiful no matter what! And besides,” Q said, swigging his drink despite Eve’s efforts to shove it away from him, “he could use a bit of humility. Let him see what it feels like to stand out, to be different instead of sculpted like the god that he is.”

“Right. I think it’s time to get you home to your resident deity before he comes looking and finds we’ve managed to get you inebriated,” Eve said, assisting Q out of the booth. Tanner stood and followed, taking one last pull from his glass.

Together, Tanner and Eve prodded and man-handled Q into a cab, paying the fare and waving him off. He slumped in the back seat, half-asleep, until the driver tapped on the divider.

“Oi, mate! This is it. Up and at ‘em!”

Q mumbled incoherently and stumbled out of the cab, throwing a few bills behind him.

“Could do it,” he continued to mutter as he ascended the steps, automatically disabling the security systems as he passed them. “I don’t care, his luscious locks can be whatever color they want t’be.”

As Q opened the front door, he remembered that Bond was supposed to be asleep, and belatedly made an effort to muffle his steps, closing the door behind him as gently as he could while falling against it.

Bond was there in an instant, any signs of sleep gone from his face. His gun was at his side, but Q had grown so used to the weapon he saw it as an extension of the man himself.

“Loud door.”

Bond smiled, putting the gun down on a nearby side table. “You’re drunk.”

“I had a few drinks, yes,” Q tried and failed to keep the slur from his voice. “I don’t need to wait for my boyfriend to be back from a mission to go out, y’know. I can have fun on my own. I have friends.”

“I bet you do,” Bond agreed, smirking even as he hauled an oblivious Q to bed. “Sorry, I’d have joined you if I’d known you wouldn’t be home. I assumed you were at the lab.”

“I don’t need you.”

“I know you don’t. But let’s get you to bed all the same.”

“Mmph.” Q murmured. “I can do it m’self.” He grabbed onto Bond’s hair, running his fingers through it. Suddenly remembering the conversation at the bar, he sprang forwards, rushing to the bathroom. “Bathroom! I can do it m’self!”

Bond laughed at Q’s back. “I’ll see you in bed. There’ll be paracetamol waiting.”

Q closed the door to the bathroom, diving under the sink and retrieving the chemicals he kept there. Where others might store toiletries or tub-scrubbing astringents, Q kept chemicals, ingredients he knew to mix better than any store-bought bottle with a nozzle on top.

He knocked about in the sink for a while, finally reaching the consistency he needed. He dumped the concoction from the beaker (doesn't everyone keep one under the sink?) into the fancy shampoo bottle in the shower. Bond had been staying over more often than not when back from a mission, and Q kept the shower stocked with the posh supplies Bond pretended he didn’t care about.

Q shook it all together until he was certain it looked normal, then messily replaced the bottles and beaker under the sink. The shampoo returned to its place in the shower, and Q returned to Bond in bed.

“Luscious locks,” he sighed, twining Bond’s hair in his fingers before he fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Q awoke to the merciless ring of his cell phone. He tried to mash it into silence, swatting at the screen, but it shrilled on. He answered, rolling over and reaching for Bond, who wasn’t there.

“Uhhhhnnn,” he answered with a groan. “This had better be urgent. Someone had better be on fire.”

“Close to,” Eve said on the other end. “We need you to come in. Big security breach at the Bank of England. None of your minions seem to have hacked it before.”

“Ughhhhhh, bloody minions and their sheltered existence.”

“There’s a mountain of scones and tea in it for you.”

“Stop trying to bribe me, I’m an official servant of the British government. And throw in some cheesy toast.”

“Done. See you in a few,” Eve said as she rang off.

Q sat up, clutching his head, downing the water and paracetamol that had been left on his nightstand. With a few grunts, he managed to get dressed and ready to go. He ran his hand through his hair, unwilling to find his hairbrush, and remembered.

“Bond. Blond. Oh dear god.” He rushed to the bathroom, but the sounds of the shower were already present.

“Bond?” he called. “I have to go in.”

“I’m just finishing up. See you there!” Bond called.

Q bit his lip. As much as he regretted his drunken escapade as a mad-scientist-turned-hair-dresser, he desperately wanted to see Bond emerge from the shower with blond hair. The look on his face would be priceless.

But there was nothing for it. His phone continued to chirp and vibrate in his hand, more bribes from Moneypenny and terrified pleas from the minions. As he walked out the door, he activated the tiny camera he kept hidden in the bathroom mirror, unethical as it was.

He’d rigged the whole building with cameras, but they only activated in the event of an intrusion, or at Q’s whim. He reluctantly went to work, half proud of his drunken tenacity, and half mortified for Bond.

***

Q was in R&D, coding a new hack-resistant earpiece for the double-ohs, enjoying the hum of minions chatting, experiments and projects whirring across the room, when everything went eerily silent. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence, precocious Q-branchers stumbling to a halt in the middle of hurrying across the room. A firecracker Q couldn’t remember authorizing for research fizzled out, falling to the ground in an ignominious arc.

Q looked around. The minions were frozen in place, some even with their mouths open. Q followed their eyes to the doorway and saw a blond Bond.

But it wasn’t the blond he’d been expecting. Q had mixed the chemicals correctly, he was sure of it. Even in a drunken stupor, the formula was as elementary as could be, and he’d been making far more complicated mixtures practically since he could read. It should have been atrocious, a bleached, white-blond worthy of any 90s boyband.

But Bond stood in the doorway, tall and proud, his hair practically glowing. It was blond alright, and worthy of a boyband, but somehow he was pulling it off. The thickness of his hair allowed for some texture, which Q suspected was added by a product somewhere in his medicine cabinet. Bond’s hair was tousled, yet neat. Messy but chic. How? How could this man have managed bleached-blond hair with a jet black suit?

Q swallowed, finding it increasingly hard to breathe properly as Bond approached him. Bond closed the distance easily, paying no attention to the minions fawning around him. He leaned over Q’s worktable and planted a kiss on his forehead, a liberty they had never indulged in at work.

“Good morning, Q,” Bond purred. “Love what you’ve done with the shampoo. Shall we try red next time?”

Q opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t. He was spared the humiliation of gaping like a fish as Bond took his exit, strolling unhurriedly out the door. He even gave a quick wink to a young minion by the door, her hands on the sides of her face. She nearly fainted.

When Q had pulled himself together, he turned back to his laptop, immediately pulling up the footage from his bathroom camera that morning and retreating to his office.

“Back to work, everyone! Nothing to see here.”

***

Moneypenny entered Q’s office like a whirlwind, attempting to fling open the door. It was glass and had a built-in hydraulic to keep it from slamming open or closed so it wouldn’t shatter. It fell back against her, but she didn’t even seem to notice. She pushed her way in, reaching Q and grabbing his shoulders, shaking him.

“What have you done? What. Have. You. Done?!”

“I don’t know, Eve, I just don’t know! I’ve created a monster!” Q answered.

“No one can work! He came into M’s office to sign a mission report and ever since, M’s been in a daze, watching the camera feed to see where Bond’s going! He’s like… like…”

“A god.” Q finished for her. “It’s impossible not to stare. I know.”

“How?! How is he able to do this? He should have at least been thrown off. It’s not every day you wake up with platinum-blond hair,” she cried out, throwing herself into the chair next to Q.

“I don’t know. Look at this! I had to come in early, thank you very much, so I couldn’t see the moment of revelation for myself. I activated the camera in the bathroom,” Eve shot him a sideways glance, “and pulled up the feed. Just watch.”

On the laptop, a video began playing. In it, they could see Bond emerge from the shower, thankfully with a towel around his waist. He stood in front of the mirror above the sink, seeing his reflection through the steam for a moment before looking down to prepare his shaving kit. His head snapped back up, gazing at the mirror. He tilted his head back for a moment, considering. He ran a hand through his hair slowly, staring at his reflection with smoky eyes. He shrugged and returned to his shaving kit, as if satisfied that the new hair color would suit his purposes.

“He didn’t even bat an eye!” Moneypenny moaned. "He even smoulders in the _mirror._ "

“It’s confirmed. He’s not human. He’s a demigod, at the very least, and an immortal being sent down from heaven at the worst. It would explain all the resurrections…” Q trailed off, a look in his eyes that meant he was calculating.

“He must be stopped. He has to go back to normal. We can’t work like this,” Moneypenny said, cringing as she heard a clatter outside, signaling another minion sacrificed to the James Blond fan club.

Bond opened Q’s office door and took in the pair of woeful MI6 staff. He nodded at them each in turn. “Eve, Q.” He left as quickly as he came.

“Unf,” Q grunted. “Can he go back to normal in a few days? Just let me have him for a bit, please, mum?”

“No. If we don’t change it back now he’ll only grow stronger, until he rules the world.”

***

Bond, Q, and Moneypenny were all called to M’s office an hour later. Bond settled into a deep leather armchair, relaxed. Q leaned up against the wall, trying not to stare at Bond. Eve pulled up a chair beside M’s desk, poised to take notes, although she rarely bothered to scribble anything down, her eyes bouncing between Bond and M.

“Bond, I’m sure you know why I’ve called you here,” M started.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Bond answered, tilting his head, allowing a stray lock of white-blond hair to fall in his eyes.

Mallory swallowed and cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we just can’t work like this. You—” he corrected, “you can’t work like this.”

“Like what?” Bond reached up and smoothed his hair back into place, eyes gleaming.

_My God_ , Q thought, _the cheeky bastard is positively enjoying this. I truly have created a monster._

M’s eyes raked over the golden hair, now perfectly in place. He visibly pulled his focus back to Bond’s face and continued. “You can’t work as a blond, Bond.”

“But sir, I was blond before,” Bond said, mouth practically pouting.

Eve squirmed in her seat, looking back at her notes.

“Were you?” M asked, quickly turning to Eve. “Was he?”

She and Q nodded gravely.

“I hadn’t noticed,” M mumbled. “Well, in any case, you weren’t blond like this before.” Bond opened his mouth, but M plowed on. “You know what I mean. You weren’t _blond_ blond. You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb with your hair like this. How would you avoid being noticed by a target? How could you possibly blend into a crowd?”

“Well, if you think I truly steal the attention from a room, I suppose I could go back to my regular hair color. Since it is a matter of national security and all. Because it’s impossible for people to look away from me now,” Bond pushed his hair back again, even though it was already perfect, and stood to leave. "I can make that sacrifice for my country." 

Q followed him out the door, but could hear the collective sigh of Eve and M behind him.

“Alright, James, you’ve shown me. I won’t tamper with the shampoo, or any other aspect of your appearance. Let’s get you home and fix it,” Q said, reaching for Bond’s arm and pulling him towards the exit.

“The workday isn’t even over yet, Q. I was going to wander around for a few more hours, watching the peasants fawn over me.”

“No, no, that’s enough for today. Like M said, national security and all that. Have to do our patriotic duty and get you home immediately.”

Q marched on, yanking Bond behind him, and Bond smiled.


End file.
